The Nightmare That Wasn't
by smalld1171
Summary: Dean is back, fresh from the pit.  Or is he? *Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all. I'm kind of in a dark place and who better to take it out on than Dean Winchester? **

**I have the feeling there will not be a happy ending. Not a death fic but not really a warm and fuzzy fic either. **

**So, having said that, reviews are always welcome and encouraged. Thanks to any who decide to take a look.**

**Of course and as always, I do not own anything SPN.**

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The nightmares. They have become more vivid, more realistic. As he startles to wakefulness once again he knows something is starting to change. He still wakes up in the same way he has done every single time since Castiel dragged his ass up from the depths of Hell. He has grown accustomed to it. His shirt. It sticks to each part of his body that it covers. He can feel the layers, the pools of sweat as they drip out from every crease and every pore. His breath is fast and ragged. Nothing new about those things.

But the smell. The distinct, invasive odour of sulfur. It is so strong, so potent that he has to work hard not to gag. He never used to wake up to that stench. It doesn't make sense that a smell can travel from the state of a dream into the state of the waking world. At least he has never endured it before.

And the room. It is still alight, still aglow with the fires of the pit. The floor, the walls, even the bed he lays on are still engulfed in a roaring fire. That sensation used to last only a second or two once he joined the world again. But now, over the past little while it lingers, it stays with him longer and longer.

He feels apprehensive and unsure of what it all means. He thinks maybe he is just finally starting to crack up. That maybe he needs a nice, long break at the nearest mental facility. Maybe they can hook him up with some magic pills that will make all the visions go away.

He looks to the bed to the right and his breath is caught in his throat as he gazes on his brother's form. He always looked to his younger brother for confirmation that he has returned from his nightmare. That all is well once again with him and with the world. But the sight that meets his eyes stuns him.

He lays there, his brother, but not in his usual state of rest. Not with a stream of shaggy, sleepy head hair straying out from beneath the blanket that always seems to cover his head. No. Sam. He is burning. Right before his eyes his baby brother is burning.

He can hear the crackle and pop of skin, like bacon sizzling away in the frying pan. He can smell it. The overpowering odour of decay, of rotting and burning flesh.

He is fixated on the macabre scene before him. He can't move and he can't breathe, He can only stare as the features that once made his brother unique slowly dissolve and melt away. Like a painting that has been washed away by the rain. Until finally, nothing is left. Until the only thing that remains is his bones. It is then that he leans over the side of his burning bed and heaves. And heaves.

He closes his eyes and tries to tell himself. This can not be real. This is a nightmare. It is always a nightmare. He just needs to ride it out. As if he has been heard, the red aura that he sees behind his eyelids, the one that had overcome this tiny room starts to fade. He opens his eyes and can see it. The walls. The floors. The flames that had consumed them just moments ago start to fade. No. That's not it. They are being sucked into the floor. As if Hell itself is reclaiming them.

Then the smells lifts. No more sulphur. No more flame. No more Hell.

He glances back to the bed his brother had occupied and feels the tiniest of smiles tug at his mouth. As he looks upon his brother's sleeping form. Once again the two brothers are there. Together. And the room is once again just another motel room.

He feels uneasy because he knows he is right. Something has changed. And it's bad.

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**TBC... Thanks again :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello...Boy, it has been quite a mess trying to post stuff on this site for the last week... and when I had a small window of opportunity I ended up posting the WRONG CHAPTER to this story and couldn't fix it until this very moment! I feel terrible about it as you were all so nice and wonderful with your comments. The previous chapter 2 was actually the continuation to my story 'Mind Games'... OOPS! So, sorry for the confusion, I hope that you find this true chapter 2 just as entertaining as the last.**** Confused? Yeah, me too... :-)**

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The feeling stays with him but he does the usual. Pushes it down into his gut to maybe, or maybe not, deal with later. After all, they have a job to do and he can't let his own problems get in the way of that. But his brother is ignoring him. Hasn't said two words to him. Hasn't responded to any of his usual witty remarks and so he has just decided to leave him be. Maybe he is tired of all the bullshit that seems to follow them around. Maybe he is tired of his older brother and all of his baggage.

They get back from their outing and he can't recall a time when he has seen his brother in that state. He has never seen him so focused. All business. He dug the grave, did the salt and burn and didn't even acknowledge his presence. Well, he will give him one day and then he'll have to find out what the issue is. For now he'll just brush it off as one of Sam's emotional moods and let it go. For now. He doesn't say a word about it.

It isn't until he notices his brother yawn and gather his clothes and head off into the bathroom that the apprehension from the night before starts to build up within him again. He hears the door open and when he looks to his younger brother the realization comes back with a vengeance. No. Something is so terribly, unbelievably wrong. With this whole thing. The bathroom. It's gone. And Sam. He doesn't even seem to notice. The flames of Hell. The pit. They are right there. Right behind him. The flames, they lick the frame of the door, they creep along and gather around his sibling. And again he has to watch in horror as his brother burns.

Tendrils of flame shoot out from the body of his brother and seem to circle around him without actually coming into contact with his skin. The flames hiss. They spit. They move like they are a living thing. And then he hears it. Whispered out to him on the back of one of those damn flames. His blood turns cold. He hears it. His name. "Dean...Dean..." He knows that voice. That. Voice. No. "Almost time to come home Dean. Almost. See you very, very soon."

The voice and the flames fade to nothingness and the bathroom is returned to its former state. As is his brother. Sam. He just heads over to his bed and lays down. Now that is just wrong. Off. He is sure that he is covered in sweat again. He is sure that his breaths are fast and shallow. He is sure that he is shaking and unsteady on his feet. So why is it that he is being ignored? Why isn't his brother at least looking over at him? No 'Are you okay?' No 'What's wrong Dean?' Nothing. Just complete and utter silence. He watches as his brother gets under the covers, turns the light off and moves his back to face him. It's as if... as if he is not even there.

A sense of dread fills him. But, he can't worry about what has gotten up his brother's ass right now. He just needs to lay down. Try to forget. About Hell.

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Shit. Not again. The rapid breaths, the sweat, the shakes. They run through him at an incredible pace and he just wants to crawl into the covers and sleep for a year. He wants this to end. He doesn't know how much longer he can stand the suffering. He can't. He can't do this. Can't go on like anymore. He needs to figure out what is going on. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs to talk about it. He is going crazy and his brother might just be the only one who can help him. He looks over to the bed that houses his brother and this time he is met by a sight he has been working so hard to forget. The face of pure evil. Alistair. He stands right in front of him. His black eyes stare straight into him. "Helllllllo Dean."

He stands up and shakes his head. "No. You... you can not be here. This isn't real. YOU are not real!"

"Oh but I am. And I can. It's almost time to come home Dean. You know it isn't right here. You can feel it. You do not belong here anymore. You need to stop hanging on. You know you belong with me. With us. You know your true calling is down...there. I can't wait to see your flourish and thrive. You will be such a natural tormentor, such a natural torturer. You have such potential Dean and I can't wait to show it to you. Time is running short Dean. Soon, all of this will be gone and you will begin your new, never ending existence. With me. With us. In the pit. It's where you belong. It is...where... you... are..."

"What are you talking about? Where I am? That doesn't make any sense!"

"Aw, sorry Dean-O, I can't spell everything out for you and ruin all the fun now can I? It does make sense. You already know but you just refuse to accept it. Before I go, let me give you a hint, a question to ponder over. What do you really remember about today? Did Sam even notice you? Did he even... see you? Okay, that was three questions but you just seem to be so slow on the uptake. See you down there soldier."

As quickly as Alistair appeared he is gone, leaving a sleeping Sam in his place. He doesn't have a clue what is going on. Does he? What did that piece of shit demon mean? Of course he remembers today. Of course Sam...he...he... Oh no. He did everything. He drove. He already had the keys. He ignored his protests about it. He dug the grave himself. He did the salt and burn. Himself. He didn't notice him. At all.

He swallows in reflex and steps towards the foot of his brother's bed. He can hardly breathe. He is so. Scared. He reaches out a tentative and shaky hand towards the figure on the bed and shuts his eyes. Please be Sam. Please be Sam.

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**TBC... Thanks as always for having a look... :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi and welcome back to another chapter. I hope you will enjoy. Thanks for reading and for sending those reviews, I appreciate it! :)**

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The closer and closer his hand gets, the tighter and tighter he squeezes his eyes shut. He suddenly wonders if this is how things start when you finally lose your grip on reality. When you reach your breaking point. When you can no longer cope. He feels a growing sense of panic rise up from his belly and head right to his throat. The throat that is so tense he can feel the throb of a headache form instantly. He is shaking. He is panting. He is on the verge of tears.

He opens his eyes as his hand finally hones in on its mark and grazes his sleeping brother's leg. His brother shifts a bit, moves his leg slightly but offers no real concrete acknowledgment of his presence.

He grabs the leg with more force and shakes it. This time his brother stirs, sits up and looks right at him. No, that's not it. He looks right through him. The gaze flickers to his leg for a moment and then travels the perimeter of the room before he just shrugs and lays back down.

He gulps and his mind races as he tries to somehow steady his quivering nerves. "Sam?" Nothing. "SAM!" No response. At all. His breathing increases again and a bout of dizziness washes over him. He must be dreaming. He must be caught up in yet another one of his nightmares. That has to be it. But this time he can't wake up. And this time it feels different. It feels...real.

He reaches out. Again. He aims for his brother's back. But this time his hand never touches his brother's form. It seems to pass right through him. He stands up, pulls at his hair, runs a hand down his now sweating face and mumbles to himself. "What is going on? Please, I need to wake up. Come on Dean, pull it together man. Just wake up. This isn't real. You are asleep. You are having a nightmare. This can not be happening." He looks to his brother. His brother who hasn't moved another inch. "Sam, please wake me up!"

He paces the room. His stare remains fixed on his brother. He rounds the bed to see his brother's face and eases himself onto the mattress. The confusion runs rampant through his mind. He wants to try again but is terrified of what the result might be. So he just stays there. Glued to that spot. He stares at his brother, willing him to wake up and say something. Anything. His eyes mist over as he recalls the look on Sam's face. When he was ripped to shreds by that hellhound. The agony, the sadness, the pain etched on his features. As he was forced to bear witness to his death, unable to help him. He shakes his head. Why would he be thinking about that?

He isn't sure how long he sits there. He is scared to move. He is scared to talk. He is scared to breathe.

He is suddenly snapped out of his position on the bed he seemed to be frozen to when he hears a loud crack followed by a searing pain. It rips through his back. Crack. The pain comes quickly and does not abate for what feels like hours but is probably only a few seconds. His back. It feels like it is on fire. Burning. He flinches and lets out a scream as again his back is assaulted by what feels like a whip, as it tears through his skin. He can feel the blood. He thinks he can smell it. It wells up and trickles down his back. He pants through the worst of it and although he feels sick, he turns around, determined to focus on the source.

No. Not again. Alistair. He holds the implement of his agony in his hand and wears an eerie, sinister smile on his face. He has to fight the rush of bile that climbs up from his gut as the little amount of light present in the room seems to illuminate the blood on the weapon. His blood.

"Tell me Dean. If this is a nightmare then how is it that you could feel the sting of my little friend here? Hmm?"

He is confused. And hurt. And speechless. It has to be a nightmare. That is the only explanation. This can not actually be happening. He is not in the pit. He got out. He came back. To Sam. To his life. He. Was. Saved. His eyes drift back towards his brother on the bed. "SAM! Help me! Please!" He shivers at the chuckle that echoes through the room.

"He can't see you Dean. He can't hear you."

He can't speak. He can only stare at the demon. The evil that stands in front of him.

"HE is the one who isn't real."

NO. That can't be true. He refuses to believe it. He... He can't let himself believe it. But... why isn't his brother doing anything to help him? How did his hand pass right through him? This has to be a dream. It can't. God. It can't be real. Can it?

"Come on Deany, time to end this little fantasy of yours. Listen. Your mind? Well, it is finally starting to let go. Your strength is failing. Your flimsy human form can not withstand much more. Those walls that you spent your entire life building up? They are giving way. NONE of this is real. It's all an illusion. Don't you see? A construction of your own making because you do not want to accept the truth. Your new reality."

He wants to wake up. He HAS to wake up. "SAM! WAKE ME UP! PLEASE SAMMY! PLEASE! HELP ME!"

His skin crawls as the laughter spews out from his tormentor. "Look around Dean. Concentrate. Look at this room. Just. Look. The truth will be revealed."

He isn't going to look. Won't give this figment of his imagination the satisfaction. He knows where he is. He knows he's in a motel. He knows. He isn't going to play the demon's game. Not anymore.

"Okay, I'll get you started. I'll turn on some of the lights in that dim brain of yours. Don't say I never did anything for you."

He wants to shut his eyes. Wants to turn away but he can't. He can't help but look. He watches. As the demon walks over to one of the walls. It stops, turns towards him, and as his black eyes still fixate on him he punches his fist right through it. Right through the wall like it is made of paper. No. Please. He begs to God. To Sam. To Castiel. To anyone. To help him. To wake him up. To open his eyes and escape this nightmare.

Flames shoot out from the hole. The fire. Hell Fire. It streams out and then before he can blink, the entire room is ablaze in the fires of Hell. His eyes dart to his brother. He is gone. Sam is gone.

He shuts his eyes. He can't breathe. He hurts. His entire body is in agony. He winces and gasps at the pain that surges through his body. His arms, he can't move them, they are pinned to his sides. His legs, he can't move them, they are tied down. He doesn't want to know where he is. He can't. He can't. He can't be back. He got out. How can he be back?

"NO! This isn't real... Dean, wake up...please! You are not here. Not again. It's impossible..."

He keeps his eyes closed and tries desperately to regain some kind of control of his body and mind. His breath hitches as he feels movement at his side and hears a soft laugh escape Alistair. He feels the demon's breath on his face. He tries to squirm away. Tries to inch further away but can't. Alistair. He knows the demon's face is right there, hovering within an inch of his.

"You can't be here again? That's a funny thing to say Dean... considering you have never left."

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**TBC... Thanks for stopping by. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone. Sorry for the delay, I have been really, really busy and haven't been able to update as soon as I would like. I hope you enjoy this next round of Dean torment. Feel free to review if you wish and thanks to those who have sent feedback my way! Thanks for reading!**

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He murmurs a constant denial in his head. No. I did get out. I did leave. I got out. I left this shithole and your ugly mug in the dust, in a glow of light so powerful only an angel could have created it. I am not in Hell. Not... got out... not... not.

"You are a damn LIAR!"

He cringes at the sound. He hates it. So much. The patronizing chuckle that echoes through his ears. He hates it. The whiny, nasally sound of the demon's voice. It grates on his nerves and makes him shudder.

"No. You never left. You have been here, with me, for years. Always right here. Skewered on the rack. My plaything. Over and over again. On display for me. To do with what I please. My property. My pet. But, every now and then you do this. You retreat into your mind and we find ourselves in this same position. You and your denial. Me and my truth. It is really getting old Dean."

No. His mind races. He tries to find some kind of flaw in the messages that his senses are throwing at him. He can smell the sulfur. He can smell the death that is all around him. He can smell and feel the heat of Hellfire on his skin. He just. It can not be. Demons lie. This demon lies. He won't and can't believe anything that spews out of this unholy sack of evil shit. He doesn't buy it. He isn't smart enough. Not to create and invent an alternate reality. The rescue. The reunion with his brother. The hug that they shared. Being back among the living. It was real. He knows it. And the nightmares... those were real.

"but...I...had nightmares...they...why would I have...if still here..." He realizes a moment to late that he muttered his last thought out loud. The demon inches closer to him again and speaks right into his face.

"My dear Dean. You really are sad and pathetic aren't you? Those so called nightmares? They were the reality Dean. They were flashes of the present. Everything else was the dream."

His confusion ramps up and threatens to overpower him. He thinks about Cas. He wonders if it could be true. Maybe. Maybe he was just another figment of his tortured soul. A reaction to his all consuming need to flee the fires of the pit. To escape the torment and torture and pain that had been unleashed on his body and mind as he was plunged into the depths of despair, into Hell itself.

He tries to get the image in his mind. Of Castiel. The more he claws around in his memories to make the image sharper, the more out of focus it becomes. He finds he can't even seem to remember one feature of the angel's face. God. He feels the doubt fill him. He isn't sure. He wonders if the demon is right after all. If he did just make the angel up in his head. He wonders if his brain manufactured it all. Everything. To get away from the truth. That he is here. In Hell. For eternity. That his soul has been made to burn. Over and over again. This whole time.

He gulps and swallows and opens his mouth in desperation. He tries to call out to his feathered friend but his name is stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth again but is bombarded by sound, as it resonates throughout his entire frame. A piercing scream. He wants to cover his ears, to try and drown out the agony conveyed within that noise but his body remains where it is. He is flooded by the truth again. He is impaled. To this spot. He can't move. Another violent shiver runs its course when it finally becomes clear. When he acknowledges the source of that dreadful sound. The sound. The never ending scream. It is coming from him. He is the one. The scream is his own.

"Ah, that's better. There's the Dean I know. I love that sound you know. I love to hear you scream out in agony and loss. I love that I am the one who makes you scream. It does my heart... well, if I had one... good. Music to my ears. And you Dean, you make the most delightful and delicious music."

_"Dean? It's Sam. Can you hear me? Don't give up. Don't give in. Keep fighting. Come back. You need to wake up. Dean, where are you?"_

That voice. He knows it. It is soft. And faint. And full of concern. But it is there. Isn't it? He is sure of it. He is sure he just heard Sam's voice call out to him. He told him to fight. To wake up. To come back. He searches frantically throughout the darkness for some sign that Sam isn't just a part of his delusions. That he is really out there, reaching out to help him. To get him out of Hell. He tries to focus on the voice. The voice that he feels reach out to him through the blackness and the fire and the souls as they plead and beg and scream in their effort to crawl their way out of the pit.

He spots him. His brother. He swears he can see him. He is right there in front of him. But, he is like a shadow, like a ghost. It's eerie. He can see right through him and behind the vision he sees stands that damn demon. He stares at his brother's features and tries to ignore the smile that has come across Alistairs' face.

"S..s'm? Really you? Here? Are you... are you real?"

His brother nods his head and for the first time he can feel a genuine smile spread across his face. His brother will save him. His brother will get him out. Sam moves his body closer. He sees him reach out a hand towards him. To touch him. He yearns to feel the touch of his brother and he struggles against his restraints to get closer. He can feel his skin stretch and pull and feels the distinctive trickle of blood as it starts to seep from his wrists as he twists and turns in his desperation to get to his brother. "Please...Sam... please."

He is almost there, almost close enough and then in an instant his one chance of salvation is ripped away. His brother's body dissolves in front of him, like a spirit that has just been on the receiving end of a shotgun blast. The demon. Alistair. He has just walked right through Sam and as he stands right in front of his prisoner, the smile once displayed turns into something else.

His head is slammed roughly against the metal rack and he feels his vision blur for a moment and the throb of a concussion instantly form on his scalp.

"Enough Dean! I am starting to lost my patience. These melodramatic strolls down memory lane are getting more than a bit annoying. And boring. Time to have some fun. With me. It is all in your head. You are messed up, riding a wave of denial in that small, teeny tiny brain of yours. There is no one here except you and me. Sam is gone. You left him. You sold your soul for him. He is not real. How could he possibly be here? It's just you and me. For eternity. You can never go back. Your soul belongs to me now. And it is my mission to blacken it to its very core. Until every ounce of your humanity has been stripped away."

He wants to wipe that smirk of the bastard's face.

"Whatever Al... Sam is real. I... I saw him. It's you! YOU are the one who is not real! You are not here!"

"Sorry, wrong again killer. Guess it's time huh? To show you what is real..."

_"Dean? Please bro. Please."_

He closes his eyes, enjoys the peace he feel at the sound of his brother's voice. He is just about to tell the demon where to stick it when he is hit by an explosion of pain so intense it robs him of his breath and his skin breaks out into a sudden and saturating sweat that coats his entire body in seconds. He gasps and struggles to fight the rising bile as it churns and rides up to the base of his throat. He lowers his head in an effort to ride out the wave of agony, to steady his rapid intake of air. He does not want to give this ass the satisfaction of screaming. He bites the inside of his mouth to keep the sound inside. The demon grabs his chin in a powerful grip and forces his head level again.

"Come on Dean. Don't be shy. I want to hear it. The scream. You can do it. I know you can."

He opens his eyes with the intent of glaring into those black eyes with a flurry of contempt and hatred but falls short when he looks at the demon. The grin displayed on his face is more than a little bit disturbing. He sees it then. Something else. The serrated knife held in the demon's grip. It is covered to the hilt in blood. God. In his blood. Alistair does not look him in the eye but continues to stare off to the area of his body that is pulsating in pain. And the demons smile widens. He feels a shiver ripple through him. Uncontrollably.

He watches Alistair and is sickened at the sight of him as he licks his lips. He tracks his eyes to the same spot the demon seems mesmerized by and instantly regrets his decision. The bile. It threatens to surge out of him as he stares, suddenly morbidly fixated on his own body. On the same thing that has his tormentor's undivided attention. He can see it. The white gleam of it, such a contrast to the darkness that surrounds them. The white gleam. Of bone. Of his bone. As it shines out from beneath his torn flesh.

The demon eyes are on his face again. The smile remains and seems to become more and more sinister as he admires his handiwork and as his fingertips come up to track the sweat that runs down his prisoner's face. "So Dean, still think this is all a dream? Still think this is not real? It feels real doesn't it? You felt the way the knife tore through your skin, your muscle, your flesh as if it was butter. Your blood. You can feel it can't you? Seeping out of your body, making you weak?"

He will not give the demon what he wants. He will not answer. He will not.

"No? Not ready yet to accept the truth? Well, let me try one more time to convince you..."

This time he can not help but moan and writhe as a new crest of pain and sickness drive into him. He glances over through heavy eyes to see the demon dig his fingers into the open wound. He feels like he is having a heart attack. The throb of blood rushes through his veins and spills out, runs along the hands and arms of his tormentor. He watches in horror as Alistair lifts his hand and licks the blood, his blood, off his fingertips, one by one. He can't breathe. He can't talk. But, God help him, he can scream. And he does. His vision starts to swim and fade in and out of focus. He just wants to pass out already.

"Go...to..."

"Hell? Huh, don't mind if I do. Just let go Dean. Join me and all the pain will stop."

_"Dean. Settle down bro. You need to slow your breaths. Concentrate. In and out. In and out. Long and deep breaths. Please."_

He tries to listen to the voice. Tries to focus on the words. He feels himself start to fade as his essence continues to pulse out with each beat of his heart. As it drips down the length of his arm, onto the metal of the rack. At is spills out and flows down into the darkness of the pit below. He can't. He is lost. He is here. He is in Hell. He never. He didn't. He never left. He feels his body sag in despair and realization. He feels his body start to shut down as the numbness comes on quick. He knows it's from blood loss but he doesn't care. He just wants it to stop. He shivers from the cold and boils from the heat. He is defeated. He really is dead.

_"Please bro, don't give up! Fight damn it! Come back to me. I need you. Don't leave me again. You have to fight! Wherever you are, whatever you see, it is not real Dean! DEAN!"_

He knows its too late. It's time to accept it. This is his fate. He feels the veil envelop him and as much as he tries to hold on to those words he knows there is no way his brother could be here. He is truly alone. Doomed to Hell for all eternity.

_"Please Dean."_

He can't tell anymore whether his heart is still beating. He can't hear it. He can't feel it through the numbness that has encased him. He is drenched now. In blood. In sweat.

_"Dean."_

He shakes his head and lets the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He takes in one last shaky breath as the acceptance of his desiny takes hold.

"S'm.. sorry... want to believe...can't...you...can't be real...bye S'my..."

_"NO! DEAN! Breathe damn it!"_

He clenches his eyes shut and as he exhales the last thing he hears is that damn demon and his damn cackle.

"That's right Dean. Let go."

He melts into the darkness as it rolls over him in wave after suffocating wave.

With one last gasp and rattle his mind and body go still.

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**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone and Happy Easter! I hope that you will enjoy this latest chapter. It actually turned out to be much longer than I had anticipated. I was going to end with this chapter but due to the length the big finale will be up next time, hopefully within a week. I want to send out a huge thank you to all of you who have been following along and for sending such wonderful comments. I appreciate it! :)**

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"Damn it Dean! BREATHE!"

He hears the contact before he feels it. The unmistakable sound of skin against skin. Within seconds he feels the sensation catch up and it hits him hard. He feels the sting. Feels the flush of heat rush across his face. Feels the force of the slap as it jolts his head to the side and draws a rapid intake of air that flows into his starving lungs. He gasps and sputters as his body goes into auto pilot and greedily sucks in the oxygen it so desperately needs. He starts to feel lightheaded and makes a concentrated effort to gain some control. He wills himself to slow down, to calm his body and work his breathing back into a normal rhythm.

His head starts to clear as his breathing continues to slow but a new sensation starts to drift through him. He shivers at the sudden sense of dread that rolls up and down his body. He struggles to figure out the source but can't seem to put his finger on it. He feels it descend upon him. He feels a sinking feeling start to swarm through him from the pit of his stomach. His instincts shout out a warning that something is very wrong. He searches his mind for the answer and wishes his brain would reboot and give him a damn clue as to why he feels so tense and on edge.

He is bombarded by a crush of images. One after another they chisel a path through his confusion right to the moment of ferocious clarity. His situation and his new reality become painfully clear. The truth crashes down on him in torrent after unrelenting torrent. He squeezes his eyes tighter as all his hard work to regulate his breathing is washed away and forgotten in an instant. He pants and shudders and heads down the path towards full blown panic.

He never made it out. He is still strapped to the rack. He is dead. He has been tortured and sliced and abused and tormented. He is sure that he had died on that damn rack. Alistair. He has brought him back for more. Forever he will run through this continuous loop. He will spend eternity dying in all kinds of sadistic ways at the hands of Alistair, only to brought back to die again in a new and horrifying way. Over and over again he will be at the mercy of that damn demon.

The panic rockets its way through each and every fibre and nerve. His body shakes and he fights to keep his composure in check. He refuses to let the demon hear him cry. He refuses to let the demon hear him scream. He prays. He prays for one simple thing. He prays the next time he feels the life drain out of him it will be the last.

His breath hitches when he feels the pressure and weight of hands press down and hold him in place. He is defenseless. He can't move. He is scared out of his wits. He can't just give in without a fight. He has to hold on to some part of himself that defines him. He has always been a fighter and he refuses to cave. Not yet.

He starts to thrash. He moves any part of his body that he can in a desperate attempt to hold off the inevitable. He knows he can not escape but he needs to do something. Needs to stay strong for himself. He wants to get away from the demon even if it is only by an inch or two. He won't lay down and give up. He is going to make that evil bastard work for it.

"Dean?"

He stops. He goes completely and utterly still. He can't go through this again. The voice. Sam's voice. It seemed so close. The pressure on his limbs eases slightly and he strains to hear any sign that will tell him he isn't just imagining this. He wants so badly to believe he hasn't gone completely mad. He wants to believe that somehow Sam has come to save him. But he can't. He knows Sam can not be there. Not in Hell. He hates that damn demon for knowing exactly what buttons to push. He shakes his head and lets out a sorrowful moan.

"Stop it. Please. Stop using him. Not him. Just. Let me die. No more..." He scolds himself and the fact that it took a total of ten seconds for his plan to unravel around his feet.

"DEAN?"

He feels breath on his face. His heart picks up a beat or two and even though he is terrified and unsure of what he will look upon, he needs to know. He needs to be sure. He takes in a shaky breath and slowly opens his eyes to face whatever or whoever is before him. He squints in the light and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders why there is any light at all. He knows first hand that Hell is consumed by darkness. He takes a moment to focus his gaze, to accustom his eyes back from the all encompassing blackness of the pit to the light that seems to surround him. He peers ahead and hones in on the figure. On the owner of the voice.

Sam. He is right there. He sees his brother stare at him with his patented furrowed brow and concerned head tilt. He knows he should be cautious. His mind sends up all kinds of red flags but he doesn't care. He has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Hey Dean. Just take it easy. You were really out of it man. Just give yourself a minute."

He loses himself in those eyes and the small smirk that is directed at him. The images. They come to life in his mind again. Alistair. The pit. The rack. Blood and bone and pain and suffering. He moves. He really moves, and it takes a moment for that simple notion to sink in. He just moved. He can move. That means he is not on the rack. He stares back at Sam for a second longer before he breaks contact and roves his eyes towards his arm. It is in one piece. It's flesh intact. No blood. No bone. He doesn't see the mangled appendage that had been opened up like a metal can. He sees his arm as it is meant to be. He stares at it in disbelief. He runs his fingers over it and sighs when there is no pain. He sees no evidence of the blade that had cut right through him.

He scopes out the room. His eyes take in and scan every wall and every corner. He searches up and down and side to side. His gaze falls to the floor and towards the kitchen. His eyes rest on the beds and the bathroom door. He sweeps the room one more time for any sign that this is all just an illusion he has created in his own head. He needs to make sure that a doorway to Hell isn't lurking around him, ready to swallow him whole. He doesn't see anything. No fire. No pit. No rack. No Alistair. No Hell. He only sees one of many dingy and dirty motel rooms the brothers have occupied time after time. He has never felt happier to be in such a dive. He closes his eyes and takes in a slow, deliberate breath. His lips twitch at the confirmation. No sulfur.

"Come on Dean, give me a sign that you're in there man, you are really freaking me out bro. Just talk to me."

He cracks open his eyes and looks towards his brother. Towards the one person who he always knew would save him. He stares at him until he sees Sam start to quiver under his unwavering gaze. Sam. He is whole. He is solid. He is no longer the ghostly vision that he imagined in the pit.

"S'my? Is that... is that really you? Are you really here? Is this a trick?"

He watches the worry ratchet up a hundred or so notches on his brother's face before it settles and softens into a warm and gentle smile.

"It's me Dean. It's me. I'm here."

He hears the words and wants to believe them more than anything. Wants it to be true. His sanity needs it to be true. He tenses up and slowly reaches across to lay a tentative hand on his brother's arm. His breath hitches at the memory of his hand as it passed right through his brother when he was trapped in the nightmare. This time he connects with flesh and can feel the warmth radiate off his brother onto the palm of his hand. For the first time in what feels like forever he allows a small smile to ghost across his lips.

"Sam? Thank God. I mean... you feel real. It is you right? I'm not... God, please, don't let me be imagining you again. Not again. I'm not right? Imagining you? Sam, I... I got out didn't I? I'm not... I'm not still in Hell am I?"

He watches his brother and can see his eyes mist over. Sam takes the hand from where it lays on his arm and places it on his own chest. He can feel his brother's heartbeat drum through his fingers. He is real. Sam. He is here. He knew it. He was saved. He is out of the pit.

"You can feel that right Dean?"

He can only nod his head in response as he feels the sting of his own tears form. He feels overwhelmed at the surge of relief that washes over him.

"I am real. Made of flesh and blood. I am right here with you. I am not in your head. We are here, together, just like always. You did get out Dean. You are not in Hell."

He can't help it. He might not even deny it later. Chick flick moment or not he lunges at his brother with such force that he almost topples them both. He wrings his fists into his brother's shirt and feels the muscle and flesh of the body underneath. His brother crushes against him and he can hear a steady mantra of words designed for comfort as they are whispered in his ear. He breathes in the scent of him and can feel his own body shake out of relief and overwhelming joy. He clings to him as if he will disappear the moment he lets go. He feels the tears start to fall and doesn't stop himself when he sobs quietly into the fabric of Sam's shirt. He doesn't care. He needs this.

"Dean. Hey, Dean? I'm right here remember? I am never going to leave you. I am not going anywhere. It's okay. You and are are okay and everything is fine. It's over now bro. Nothing can hurt you. I won't let anything happen to you. Never again. I promise. Understand? You are safe."

He is reluctant at first but manages to pull away from the embrace. He wipes his eyes hurriedly and tries to regain some sort of composure. He feels the gentle hand of his brother on his chin as his downcast eyes are lifted up to look into Sam's.

"Talk to me Dean. Don't shut me out. Not this time. This was the worst one yet and I think you know it's time to stop dealing with this on your own. That you can't do it anymore. What do you remember?"

He swallows. He hesitates to answer. He has tried so damn hard to keep this away from his brother. To hold inside all of the terror and horror that is at the very core of Hell itself. He wants to shield him from the very worst of the darkness. The very worst of himself. He isn't sure if he has the right to drag his baby brother down into the pit with him. After all, it was just a nightmare. Something his weary and exhausted brain conjured up to punish him. He closes his eyes to hide himself from the insistent puppy dog eyes of his younger brother.

"Come on Dean. Please, tell me. You can't hide it anymore. I saw it. I heard it. You don't know what it was like for me. I couldn't break through. I tried, God, I tried to wake you up but you just wouldn't. You were stuck in the throes of your mind and I can't even begin to imagine what you went through.

Dean. You were screaming. At the tops of your lungs. You were screaming out to me. You were thrashing. And then...God...you stopped breathing. It was the worst thing possible and I don't ever want to see you like that again. I almost lost you. So, you need to give it up already. Please Dean, you need to talk to me about this before it really does kill you. And that would kill me. Please?"

He feels his palms start to sweat and his breath start to ramp up. He just wants to forget about it. Wants to push it under the rug and move on like he has done every other time. But as he looks into his brother's eyes he sees nothing but love and worry and support shine through them. He feels his last bit of resistance start to fade. He knows within himself that this time was different. He knows he almost didn't make it out. As much as he doesn't want to involve his brother in it he also knows he has to. He needs to confide in him before he loses his grip on reality and can't be pulled back. He can not go through another night in Hell alone.

"Take your time Dean. I know you are nervous man but I will be here every step of the way. You won't be alone. We will get through this. Together."

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**TBC... Last chapter coming up next! Any ideas on how it all ends? Whatever you are thinking is probably right;) **

**Stay tuned and thanks for reading! **


	6. Final Chapter

**Hi and welcome to the LAST chapter! I know, I said it would take a week but hey, I knew exactly what I wanted to do so I went out and did it! YAY! I hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or the story as a whole. This was fun to write and I hope you have found it fun to read. Thanks again to all of you who have read and those who have sent along such fantastic reviews! THANK YOU SO MUCH! :)**

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"Take your time Dean. I know you are nervous man but I will be here every step of the way. You won't be alone. We will get through this. Together."

Sam sounds so sure but he has no idea what he is asking of him. He is not so gung ho to rehash and relive his nightmares out loud. He doesn't know if he can. He takes one more look at Sam and sees his jaw is set in silent determination. He sighs when he realizes he is so not going to get out of it this time. He figures the sooner it starts the sooner it can finish.

He nods his head and takes a deep breath. He turns his attention from his brother's face to the putrid coloured carpet below. This will be hard enough without having to watch the emotions roll across his brother's features when he hears his secrets spill out.

He's not sure where to start. He isn't sure how a person can begin to explain something that no one should ever know. He doesn't think there are any words to describe the complete and absolute terror that only a journey down south can evoke. He figures he will just concentrate on the nightmares themselves. There is no need to delve any deeper into all the things he had witnessed and done during his time in the pit.

"Umm..." He closes his eyes, tries to focus his thoughts and ready his words. "Every time I close my eyes Sammy. Every single time I do I am dragged back down into the pit. Huh, it's weird you know. I have actually gotten used to it. Can you believe that? That's pretty screwed up man, even for me. I have accepted that it is just part of who I am now. A burden I will have to carry. It's like a black cloud you know? I can't escape from it no matter how fast I run or how drunk I get or how far past exhaustion my body is. It is always there. I have managed though right? I mean, I have learned to cope with it because what choice do I have? In my own way I have dealt with it every night since I got back. Maybe not in the most healthy ways but still, I've been dealing."

He can hear Sam breathe and wishes he would say something. When he is met with silence he decides to carry on.

"But...tonight...this time..."

"What Dean? Tell me. Please. What about this time."

He takes in another deep breath and steels his nerves in order to get through this.

"It was.. different. And I'm sure you know by now it wasn't a good kind of different. I couldn't wake up. I.. I kept telling myself it wasn't real, that it was just another damn nightmare. But he... he told me... He said... I never got out... I never..."

He can hear Alistair's voice rattle around in his brain. He can hear his laughter echo in his ears. He can feel wetness on his cheeks and his hands are clenched so tightly that he doesn't think even a crowbar could separate them. He feels hot. He feels dampness ooze out of his pores and track down his face and back. His anxiety and fear have climbed up the scale at an alarming rate and even though logic tells him he is no longer immersed in his subconscious, he can't help but start to freak out.

He feels hands on his and blinks through his tears to look down at them. He knows those hands. His gaze drifts upward and his worried brother stares back at him. Sam leans down and speaks softly in his ear. He listens and slowly gains back some semblance of control. He listens to the words and begins to feel calmness again. He can't believe how quickly he lets himself slip back into total meltdown mode. He doesn't know how he would survive this time if his brother wasn't right there to remind him of where he is. He is safe. He is with Sam.

There is no stopping it now. He needs to get it all out. Needs to have it out there in the open so he and Sam can work on a plan to fix it somehow.

"It felt.. so real Sam. I could see it. The flame. The fire. I could smell the sulfur. I could smell flesh as it burned. I could hear them Sam. The souls. They were screaming all around me. And then... you were there. I could see you but... then you disappeared in a cloud of dust. And that's when I knew..."

"Knew what?"

"That I was still there. Had always been... that what Alistair was telling me all along was true. I wasn't saved. I had been burning down in the pit the whole time. That my mind was somehow making shit up but that in the end I will still in Hell. And to prove it... he... well, that's when the fun began. Alistair. He... he..."

"What did he do Dean?"

"God Sam. I was on that damn rack again. All I could hear was that bastard laughing at me. He was giddy with how I had been broken. At how my last hope, the one thing I had clung to all along, was just an elaborate story my mind made up. He said that everything I believed had happened was all in my head. And he convinced me it was true."

He looks to his arm and swears he can see it as it was when he was tied to the rack. He can see the flesh that has been cut away hang by tendons. He can see his blood squirt out in one continuous stream of crimson. He can see the bone jut out from the crevasse the blade had created.

"Dean? Do you need a break? Dean?"

"He sliced me open Sam. My arm... I.. I could see all the way... inside...I could see...bone..."

He hears a gasp from his brother and that is all it takes for his churning stomach to make it clear that he is about to spew. He rushes to the bathroom and barely makes it to the ground before he retches and heaves and spills out whatever his stomach can offer. He leans on his forearm for a moment or two and distantly wonders where Sam went.

He slowly rises from his position and as he leans over to flush away the contents of the bowl he catches it. The water. It has a distinctive tinge of pink within it. He feels as though he has been punched in the gut as his mind starts to work into overdrive. He stands and faces the mirror to get a good look at himself.

"Dean? You okay bro?"

He suddenly thinks maybe he isn't okay. He looks at himself and can see his mouth is rimmed with dried blood. He takes in all of his features and he doesn't like what he sees. He looks. He looks dead. His skin is a sickly greenish gray, his eyes seem dim and lifeless and his hair is plastered to his head. He runs the water and splashes the cooling liquid against his burning skin. He chalks it up to his stupid nightmares and the fact that he really needs to get a real sleep. He is exhausted and pretty sure that his brotherly talk is over for the day.

He lifts his head and takes one more quick peek in the mirror. His eyes go wide in utter disbelief. He is surrounded in that mirror. By flame. And fire. And blackness. He can see the rack off in the distance and beside it stands Alistair. The demon looks over to him and he shudders at the smile he sees. It takes a moment but he notices a figure strapped to the rack. He feels sick at the sight and when the victim turns his head he needs to grip onto the sink for support. He stares at the figure. He stares at himself as he hangs there covered in blood and sweat and gore.

He whips around to look behind him and sees nothing but the white shower curtain. He turns to the mirror and the images are gone. He hears a knock on the door and nearly jumps out of his skin. Reality floods back into him as he hears Sam call out to him from the other side of the door. He wonders if this is how it is when you go insane. Maybe he really is losing his marbles. He breathes deeply and opens up the door to meet Sam's concerned gaze.

"You alright man? Don't take this the wrong way but you don't look so hot."

"Just.. um.. yeah, I'm okay. But I don't think I can do this anymore tonight."

"Listen, why don't you go sit down while I take care of some bathroom business and we'll see what happens. Okay?"

He nods but remains where he stands as Sam disappears and closes the door behind him. He knows he should give him some privacy but he feels unnerved and unsettled and can not distance himself from the one person who seems to be his only lifeline to reality at the moment. He hears the toilet flush and can't wait until Sam is finished and comes back out. He hears the door unlock but then the water starts to run. He pushes the door open and sees Sam look up at him through the mirror with his familiar question mark eyebrow and he knows he has to spill it.

"Sam. God, I think I am cracking up."

He watches his brother dry his hands and face and he feels a lump form in his throat as he waits for some kind of response. His brother doesn't turn around but continues their conversation through the mirror on the wall.

"What happened Dean, why would you think that?"

"I'm seeing things Sammy. It comes on without warning. I mean I saw. In that mirror... I saw things in that mirror. I saw myself in that mirror. I was tied to the rack. I was covered in blood... and... and..."

He hears a low and rumbling laugh emanate from his brother's frame and it instantly makes the hairs on the back of his neck shoot straight up. He is overwhelmed by a sudden case of dejavu but can't wrap his brain around what caused it.

"Um, not funny dude. What could possibly be amusing about me going nuts?"

He stares at the reflection of his brother through the glass and can't quite read the expression that his face holds. He shivers and his gut churns again as he witnesses the formation of the creepiest kind of smile emerge from his brother. He is getting an incredibly bad feeling about this.

He continues to stare, unable to move an inch from the spot he seems to be frozen in.

"What is wrong with you Sammy?"

His brother lowers his gaze to the sink and shakes his head slowly and deliberately. "Poor little Dean. He thinks he is losing his mind. How charming."

"Sam?"

"How many times are we going to have to go through this? How many times am I going to have to tell you Dean?"

He swallows and is overcome again by a massive wave of dread.

"Tell me what? Sammy?"

He reflexively backs up towards the door but never wavers his gaze from his brother's form. He is more than a little freaked out and his heart plummets and his knees start to buckle when his brother looks up at him again from the vantage point of that damn mirror.

He stares at Sam's reflection and thinks he may have just let out a whimper. He looks at those eyes. The eyes that stare back at him from that pane of glass. He stumbles against the frame of the door as his gaze remains locked on those eyes. Those eyes. They are not Sam's.

He can't speak. He finds he suddenly can no longer move. He is gripped in a tight ball of terror. He is staring into the eyes of a damn demon. Again. The demon that wears his brother's face.

His body finally responds and he takes a step back and a mouthful of air when the demon spins on his heels and stares down at him.

"Dean... this?..." He watches the demon gesture towards the body he is currently stored in and can't help but flinch when the demon snaps its fingers. He can only look on in horror as he witnesses his dejavu moment. The image of his brother begins to melt away to leave Alistair in its wake. Not again. No.

"...isn't..." The demon snaps his fingers again and the motel room begins to disintegrate around them. He can't breathe. His nostrils fill up with the pungent odor of sulfur and blood and flesh. His eyes are thrust back into the darkness where the only trickle of light is from the glow of Hell fire. The beautiful light he had been engulfed in has been extinguished in the blink of an eye.

"...real..." He hears another snap and feels himself be flung across the room. He braces himself for the impact against the wall but his breath is taken away when he hits something else. Something hard. Something painful. The clang his body makes on impact tells him where he is.

He is on the rack.

"SAAAAMMM!"

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**THE END. Thank you for stopping by and take care! :)**


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